


Red Sun Rising

by underoriginal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Gabe is Not a Terrible Person, Gabe protects his men, McCree's belt buckle is accurate, Other, Random Doomed OCs, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vampire McCree, genji is in this too but not enough to bother tagging him, or tries to anyway, so are jack and hanzo, super senses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underoriginal/pseuds/underoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadlock falls to Blackwatch fairly easily. The vampire who hangs out in their diner does not. Reyes takes this as a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Deadlock falls easily enough. In another era, they could have been a force to be remembered. International arms dealers and drug smugglers with a retro look and a heap more bravado than sense. There will be movies made, no doubt, painting them as noble misunderstood heroes, skating over the broken and bruised bodies in their wake. But more bravado than sense doesn’t do much good against a force like Blackwatch. Blackwatch has bravado and sense and iron clad discipline. Really, it’s not even a fair fight.

Gabriel is loading the last of the survivors into a black, unmarked truck when Agent Garner speaks into his comm.

“We got another one, sir,” the man says. Garner is one of the few poached from Overwatch proper. Still follows protocol and everything. “We have him cornered but he’s asking for you specifically.”

A blip pops up in Gabriel’s HUD. Garner’s location. He switches to heat signature and pauses. “I’ll be right over. Sit tight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel sighs. Another communication they don’t need. And another complication. Because Gabriel only sees a single blip and he knows that Garner isn’t a liar. 

Blackwatch deals with the strange a lot. Gabriel’s seen dragon spirits and Omnics the size of islands and a whole lot of unpleasant things from the Soldier Enhancement Program, trying to make men better than Man was ever meant to be.

He still flinches imperceptibly when he round the corner of the beat up old diner.

The man sitting in the bright red and white striped chair is easily as tall as Gabriel and, more importantly, equally is broad across the shoulders. He’s nursing three fingers of whiskey, cowboy hat on the table next to him, ignoring Garner’s gun aimed at his head. Except for his ridiculous cowboy getup, he looks like a pretty standard bruiser. Still, Gabriel hadn't ended the Omnic Crisis by ignoring his gut feeling. 

“You asked to see me?” 

The man doesn't look up. “You’re the head honcho, huh? Mighty kind a you to come down here in person.” He gestures across the table with a sweep of his wide, calloused hand. “Take a seat. Let’s chat a little.”

Gabriel sits, one shotgun on his back and the other clasped loosely in his left hand. The man peers at him. His eyes are brown as the gorge around them, framed by bushy eyebrows and brown hair hanging loose around his face.

“So,” Gabriel says. “I take it you want to defect from Deadlock. Little late now.”

The man shrugs. “I ran with ‘em for a bit. Can’t say I’m defecting though. I was never that loyal to them to begin with." He scratches his beard, just barely slow and gentle enough to keep Garner from shooting. "Mostly I just want outta here without a bullet in my brain and your lackey there don’t seem all that inclined to let me.”

“My orders were to apprehend everyone in this diner and sort it out later,” Gabriel explains. “If you come with us-”

“Aw, don’t give me that,” the man whines. “We’re both professionals here. Don’t bother with that easy way hard way bullshit.”

Gabriel leans forwards. “Professionals?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly is your profession?”

The man takes a slow sip of his whiskey. “You sure ask a lotta questions for a man who ain't never met me before. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

“Gabriel Reyes,” Gabriel offers. Garner twitches in surprise. Gabriel makes a mental note to train him out of that later. He can’t have his men doubting him in front of a potential enemy.

The man leans forward, pointing a knowing finger at Gabriel. “You’re that Overwatch guy, ain’tcha? The one that killed all them Omnics way back when. Woulda thought they’d keep you in charge, not some Indiana boy who don't know his own ass from a husk a corn.”

It stings, but it’s an old sting. “Yeah, I’m the Overwatch guy. And you are?”

The man pauses, hooks a finger into his belt buckle. It reads BAMF. Gabriel refuses to acknowledge it's existence. “McCree,” the man says. “Jesse McCree.”

Gabriel holds out his own hand, the one not resting on his gun. “Pleased to meet you, Jesse McCree.”

McCree takes his hand and-

-and _hisses._

Pulls his hand back like Gabriel has a viper up his sleeve. Looks at him with shock, fear, and something entirely new. Respect. 

Gabriel Reyes isn’t a praying man, but he is a pragmatic one. He hasn't set foot in a church since he left Catholic school and joined the military, but old habits die hard. Besides, nothing amuses him quite like the thought of showing up at the pearly gates with a shotgun in his hand a rosary tied around his wrist. But all the paranoia and prayer in the world don't prepare him for what happens next.

It’s only because of the SEP enhancement that Gabriel can even see it. 

McCree stands, turns, shoots, lunges, and catches Garner’s gun before it hits the ground. He skips backwards, tossing aside the wreckage of the military issue pistol. It finally clatters to the ground half a second after the first twitch of McCree’s muscles. 

Gabriel’s heart thuds in his chest and he can just barely hear Garner’s heart pounding like a beggar at the door. He wonders what McCree hears. It must be more than Gabriel.

“Well,” McCree says, “I appreciate you taking the time to come chat with lil ol’ me but I think it’s best we both go on our ways.” He fishes a cigar out of his pocket, presses it against the smoking barrel of his gun until it catches and embers fall like the glints of light off the aluminum and rust crucifix in the chapel by Watchpoint: New Mexico where Gabriel prayed and meant it for the only time that he can remember. The night before the SEP began. His last night of humanity.

Garner reaches for his earpiece and McCree shoots again. A warning shot. Just close enough to get soot on his fingertips. The bullet lodges right in the O of an old postcard of Route 66. Someone, no doubt a bored teenager, scrawled on another 6 in red ink.

McCree puts on his hat. “Now, boy, you can call in back up if you want, but I’m warning you; I only got four shots left. Now, I know for a fact there’s more than four men out there waiting for something to do.” He throws back the whiskey, not even flinching at a taste that could make grown men cry.

“You do the math and it sure don’t seem too great for me, but I’m awful creative.” He turns to look at Gabriel, sizing him up. “I ain’t so sure y’all wanna see how creative I can be.” He takes a long drag on the cigar, lets out a plume of smoke like a warning beacon. 

Gabriel doesn’t stand. He refuses to give McCree that courtesy. “Go,” he says like what he says means anything at all.

McCree smiles, tight lipped, walks to the door with his back to Gabriel. Blows another puff of smoke in Garner’s face as he passes by.

Garner hacks and coughs and McCree pauses at the door.

“Thank you kindly,” he says, voice dark and sweet like thick molasses, “for your… hospitality.” The door swings shut behind him. 

Gabriel doesn’t swear. He doesn’t curse or scream or throw anything at walls. He surges to his feet and stalks back to the trucks, snapping his fingers to make sure Garner falls into lockstep behind him.

He’ll have to keep an eye out in the future. Garner’s bleeding. Got hit early in the fight. Small cut on his hand he hasn’t even noticed yet. 

But Gabriel noticed. Gabriel smelled it.

And if Gabriel can smell it, there’s no way in hell the vampire missed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this fanart: http://toiek.tumblr.com/post/146814626869/i-thought-mccree-would-look-really-good-with-fangs  
> Please leave a review if you like this.
> 
> General Notes:  
> -I don't intend this to be too long, more of a series of connected one shots than an overarching story.  
> -McCree has been around since Forever and is one of the oldest vampires still alive by a wide margin (that he created).  
> -Gabriel is one of those people who refuses to use nicknames.  
> -Always assume that McCree knows what he's doing.  
> -Both of them were raised Catholic and still pretty much remember how it all works.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Ironically, this is more or less exactly how Gabriel expected to end up in a maximum security Peruvian prison.

The request had come to Overwatch, but Gabriel is the highest ranking native Spanish speaker still on payroll, so he puts on a shiny blue and white uniform and flies down to Peru in a legally sanctioned aircraft. There are benefits to white hat work, Gabriel has to admit. His own personal chopper doesn’t have a minibar. 

He brings Agent Garner with him. Garner’s been getting pretty twitchy in the months since Deadlock fell. He does his job well enough, but he’s been slipping away for smoke breaks. Garner doesn’t smoke. At least, he didn’t before. Either way, it’s technically within his rights so there’s not much Gabriel can do about it.

Honestly, he’d much rather leave Garner behind, give him a chance to recover more, but Garner had insisted. Everyone confronts their demons in their own way. Some more literally than others.

The prison guards snap to attention as Gabriel passes and the warden greets him with a salute. 

“I almost lost my whole family in the Omnic Crisis,” he says. “You saved our lives. Thank you for coming here.”

Gabriel nods. “This isn’t the first time I’ve met this guy.”

He walks over to the monitors displaying McCree’s cell. The vampire looks exactly the same as he did eight months ago except with no pistol at his belt and thick black cuffs around his wrists. He sits at a small aluminum table, perfectly still, staring off into space.

“He’s been like this since we picked him up,” the warden says. “Doesn’t move, doesn’t eat. Frankly, my men are spooked.”

“He said anything so far?” Gabriel asks.

“Asks for a whiskey and a smoke every so often,” the warden reports.

“Ever given him one?”

“No.”

Gabriel nods. “Good. Keep it that way. That all he says?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel watches the feed for a few long moments. Jesse McCree doesn’t even breathe. Gabriel isn’t exactly surprised.

“Could I talk to him, sir?”

Gabriel doesn’t look back at Garner. “No.” He pauses, considers. He has never been the type to throw his men’s lives away, but neither does he play it safe. His men know that and they have come to terms with it. “Why don’t you relieve the guards?” he says. “Stay outside the cell.”

Garner knows what Gabriel is doing. Gabriel doesn’t hire idiots. He nods. “Yes, sir.”

The cameras don’t show the guards outside the cell. This warden trusts his guards to be where they should be. So does Gabriel, but he keeps cameras on them anyway.

He takes a seat, an old worn office chair. The dark blue covering is worn and frayed and it creaks dangerously when he leans back. “How’d you catch him?” Gabriel asks.

“Caught him trespassing,” the warden replies.

“Trespassing?” 

“Yeah. Didn’t know what to make of it myself. Showed up in the middle of the complex and just stood there. Didn’t say a word when we brought him in.”

“He fight back?”

“Didn’t even resist.”

So. That meant McCree had let himself be captured. Why? What did he stand to gain inside a Peruvian prison cell?

“You tried moving him?

 

The warden scoffs. “Acts like he’s blind and deaf, that one does. But there’s something about him that’s just… uncanny. He won’t go with us and none of my men want to get close enough to carry him.”

Gabriel can understand that, even if he would never permit it from his own men. If not for the red digits ticking away the time in the corner of the video, he would think he was watching a painting. No breath, no blinking. Just a man staring off into space.

“You let him keep his gear,” Gabriel notes.

The warden sighs. “That’s why I called you in,” he admits. “It doesn’t feel like we’re holding him, if you know what I mean.”

Gabriel knows. He glances back at the warden, gives him the closest he can give to a reassuring look. “You made the right call.”

“Thank you, sir,” the warden says. “Your men are braver than mine, going into the cell with that thing.”

Gabriel jerks his eyes back to the screen, watches in horror as Garner walks into the cell, closing it behind him. At long last, McCree looks up, his eyes locking on Garner’s. Garner shivers. McCree grins.

“Turn on audio,” Gabriel snaps.

“Should we pull him out?” the warden asks.

“No.” Gabriel forces himself to sit back down. He knew this would happen eventually. “Just let me watch.”

“You’re back,” McCree says, sounding for all the world like a pleased hostess at a spring brunch. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“You knew I would come.” Garner spits the words out like an accusation. “How?”

McCree leans back as far as the cuffs allow him. “No one stays away from me for long.”

“What the fuck are you?” Garner demands. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I know,” McCree says like he’s soothing a crying child. “It get easier. For a little while at least.”

Garner steps into his space, presses a pistol into the underside of his jaw. “What the hell did you do to me?” he demands.

McCree raises an eyebrow. “Put the gun away, boy,” he says. Garner obeys. “Unlock the cuffs.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Gabriel declares. “Lock it down.”

At a push of the button, the outside walls slam closed, sealing over every single spot that might be used to escape. The filters hiss to life as they begin circulating the air. The rumble of sound breaks Garner out of his trance. He pulls back, shock written plainly on his face. McCree just smiles.

“There you are,” he declares to the room at large. He pushes himself up from the chair, swinging over the table with inhuman speed to grab Garner’s throat with his legs and shove him to the floor. Garner reaches for his gun but his hands skitter past it, unable to fight back. McCree doesn’t so much as glance at the soldier choking and gasping in his grip. He turns to the camera, his eyes black as pitch.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Gabriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more set-up for later interactions. It will be more Gabe and Jesse interactions soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. Hopefully I should be updating more in October. 'tis the season and all that.

For a moment, no one moves. Garner freezes, the warden freezes. The air stands, thick and still and when Gabriel finally breathes, it is torture to draw it into his lungs. McCree wrenches his own wrists, snapping his thumbs and crushing the tiny bones of his hand until the limp wreckage can be pulled out of the cuffs.

Garner still hasn’t moved, eyes shut and breaths shallow. McCree pulls Garner closer, holding eye contact with the camera as he sinks his teeth into the soft hollow of Garner’s throat. The blood pools in the divot of Garner’s collarbone, bright crimson against the black of his uniform. McCree laps up the blood with brisk, efficient strokes, smearing Garner’s skin in shades of red and pink. His hands knit back together, broad knuckles sliding back into place underneath the desert brown skin.

“You should trust your men,” McCree admonishes, rubbing a gentle thumb over Garner’s wound. “I wouldn’t have had to hurt him if you had just let him uncuff me.” Garner is limp in McCree’s arms. His hand has fallen against his pistol but he makes no move to grab it. 

Gabriel mouths a long string of curses. He doesn’t say anything.

McCree sighs, strokes Garner’s hair. “You hear that?” he asks Garner, “He doesn’t even speak up for you. I just can’t wrap my head around why you care about him so much.”

Garner shakes. He doesn’t speak either.

McCree rolls his eyes. “Let’s make this simple,” he says. “I want to talk to you face to face. Come down here in five minutes or I slit your man’s throat.”

Gabriel grits his teeth. “Lift the lockdown,” he orders. “I’m going down there.”

The warden obeys. Gabriel knows what the warden is thinking; he’s thinking it too. He’s playing right into the vampire’s hands. By the time he makes it down to the cell, McCree has sat back down, feet propped up on the table and hand fisted in Garner’s hair. Garner isn’t bleeding any more, isn’t even wounded.

“Gabriel Reyes,” McCree says. He strokes Garner’s hair, his eyes down. “Messenger of God. Kings.” The dim light glints off the cuffs lying uselessly on the table. “So your father thought you were royalty and your mother thought you were a holy man. I wonder what they would think of you now, clawing desperately to save even one man.” He tilts his head to the side, mangy brown hair falling over eyes the color of the dying sun.

“This is a lot of trouble to talk to a man,” Gabriel says. “I have a public email, unless that’s too advanced for you.”

McCree scoffs. “I wanted to see you,” he explains. “Seemed like a good idea to meet on neutral ground.”

“And attack my subordinate,” Gabriel adds. 

“I’ve been mighty kind to ya.” McCree doesn't sound upset. He doesn't need to. His hand is white knuckled in Garner’s hair, beads of blood gathering in Garner’s scalp. “You didn't let him unchain me so I had to unchain myself. If not for that, we could be having a much more pleasant conversation. I ain’t unreasonable, jefe. I just wanted to chat.”

“Let my man go and then we’ll chat,” Gabriel says.

McCree ignores him. “Y’see, I’ve been following you pretty close since the Omnic crisis. Hafta admit, it ain’t often that a man catches my eye like that. Now, I ain’t the type to judge folks for what they ain’t able to control, but me and those buckets of bolts never really saw eye to eye. They wanted humans dead and I like my blood fresher than that.” 

Beneath his hand, Garner makes a soft sound. 

“Get to the point,” Gabriel growls.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you patience?” McCree asks. “Well, I suppose it don’t matter all that much to me. To put it simple, I wanted to see if the great Gabriel Reyes was all he was cracked up to be. So far? I ain’t impressed.”

“My job isn’t to impress you,” Gabriel says.

“Yeah, I noticed,” McCree agrees. “Can’t fault a man for curiosity though.”

Gabriel raises his shotguns, aims them directly at McCree. McCree rips Garner to his feet in between the shotguns and the vampire’s head. 

“This here’s why I prefer a pistol,” McCree says. “They’re so much more precise.”

He’s right. At this range, Gabriel can’t hit McCree without hitting Garner too. He knows which one of them he’ll kill. “You’re lying to me,” Gabriel says, deliberately calm. Even in a dust storm, there’s something eerily still about the desert. “If you were this sure I’d come for you, there are simpler ways to have a conversation. What do you really want?”

McCree raises an eyebrow, but sighs and lets Garner go. Garner stumbles, clutching at his head, but he doesn’t back off. “You’re a loose end,” he says. “I don’t like folk knowing what I am, not when they aren’t mine. So I figured I’d kill you.”

Gabriel’s hands tense around his guns and McCree rolls his eyes dramatically. “Relax, jefe. I changed my mind. Started digging around your secret organization. Turns out it’s got secrets even you don’t know about. So I’m offering you a deal.” He spreads his arms to the sides, looking open and vulnerable except Gabriel knows that he still holds some sort of sway over Garner. “One job. One truth. And you forget all about me.”

“Elaborate,” Gabriel orders, his guns lowering fractionally.

McCree reaches into his pocket slowly and takes out a cigar. “Got a light?” he asks.

Gabriel doesn’t reply.

McCree scrapes his nails against the metal table with a horrible screech, sending up sparks and scoring the metal. He lights his cigar on the sparks and breathes deeply. “I reckon you don’t got much reason to like me, not after Deadlock or taking your man or whatever else and you’re a man of some stature. Kinda tricky to disappear. So I’ll tell you one truth and do one job for you, anything you like save off myself, and then I’ll stay out of your way and you stay out of mine. Deal?”

“What happens if I refuse your deal?” Gabriel asks.

“Then we’ll have to fight,” McCree says. “You might even win. But you’d have to be pretty damn lucky.” He takes a small slip of paper out of his pocket and hands it over. It has a nine digit phone number written on it. “This ain’t my number, but she does know how to contact me. You tell her I sent you and she’ll pass the message on. Don’t bother using her to track me. You’ll fail.”

He stands, just as tall as Gabriel, but casually filling the room in a way Gabriel had taken years to learn. “Take it or leave it, don’t much matter to me either way, but I figure I owe you for that one.” He jerks his thumb at Garner who is staring desperately up at him.

There’s a catch, Gabriel is certain. There’s no way in hell this isn’t going to damn him, but he’s been damned for years. He sold his soul to the Soldier Enhancement Program. Doesn’t really matter who else wants a piece of it.

“I’ll take my truth now,” he says.

“Oh?” McCree rocks back on his heels, looking very slightly impressed. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you take control of my man?” 

McCree takes one step into his space, exhales a puff of thick smoke in his face. It smells achingly familiar, a scent that permeated every aspect of his youth until the cold scent of sweat and disinfectant replaced it. It didn’t stay gone for long. Smoke followed him on the battlefield, on the lips of politicians throwing away everything he had worked towards, on the broken and beaten bodies of men he had been tasked to wring truth from. The scent of smoke is everything to him and it gives him nothing in return. 

Distantly, through the murky haze, Gabriel can hear laughter. 

“Like that,” the vampire says and vanishes.


	4. Chapter 4

The next three months pass. Part of Gabriel feels like they pass interminably slowly, each second lasting hours. Another part of him feels like the days speed past him, blurry and hazy while he struggles after the ticking of the clock. Still another part of him has lost time entirely, standing in an endless fog, aware only of the present moment and the thick stench of smoke.

Nicotine is one of the most addictive substances on the planet. It feeds not just the pleasure centers of the brain, but every cell in the body. Gabriel convinces himself that it’s just nicotine his body craves, although he is not foolish enough to believe that. After the meeting in Peru, Garner left. Took a leave of absence, then an honorable discharge. Dropped off the face of the planet not long after that. Gabriel doesn’t have even the slightest idea where Garner is, but he can guess who he’s with.

He keeps the phone number in his pocket even though the numbers are burned into his brain. He wakes up with the string of digits on his lips and the scent of smoke heavy on his tongue. He can bury himself in his work, throw himself into the job, but it clings to his clothes, to his skin, to his being. He needs to see the vampire again. 

Around him, Blackwatch begins to tremble. More agents stream in every day and more end up on casualty lists. In a matter of weeks, Gabriel estimates that he has not looked half his agents in the eyes. There’s only one agent Gabriel even begins to trust.

If someone had told him a month ago that Gabriel Reyes would have put all his trust in a Shimada, he would have laughed in their face. But Genji sees the way his hands twitch for a cigarette he has never touched before and just offers him a lighter silently. 

“This is something beyond you, is it not?” Genji asks him one day.

The sun is just beginning to set, setting the Strait of Gibraltar alight like candlelight on a sheet of silk. “The hell are you talking about,” Gabriel says, refusing to let any hint of doubt or questioning enter his tone.

“Many things seem like legends, but that does not mean they are,” Genji says.

He would know, of course. Gabriel has seen his dragon before, watched a creature out of myth cut through a swath of foes like the wind through a dandelion. He looks over his shoulder. He doesn’t see anyone except the two of them. He drops over the cliff and scales his way down to a small cave embedded in the cliff face. Genji hangs on the wall next to him, unheeding of the thousand foot drop below them into the churning sea.

“How many of Blackwatch do you trust?” Gabriel asks him. His lungs are heavy, just as they have been for what had turned into an eternity while he wasn’t looking. 

“Why would I trust Blackwatch?” Genji asks back. There is something in his voice that resembles humor, although it has been ripped to shreds. He is young, for everything he has been through, but not young enough to adapt easily. Just young enough not to be able to accept his fate. 

Gabriel sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. “How many of Blackwatch do you think I can trust?”

Genji tilts his head to the side like a bird, quick and sudden and almost frantic like any movement could be his last. “It seems as though you are trusting me, Commander.”

Such a pity, Gabriel thinks, that Genji is only learning subtlety now, too late to spare him from the pain his family wrought against him. “Blackwatch is rotting from the inside,” Gabriel admits.

Genji nods. “I noticed.” He shivers. “This place felt too much like Hanamura.”

Gabriel smiles mirthlessly. “If I got rid of everyone I didn’t trust, I wouldn’t have anyone left.” Not even himself. “But some of them are going to betray me and I can’t let them stay, knowing they’re plotting against me.”

“You think you have a solution,” Genji accused.

Gabriel remembers when they brought Genji in, his body twisted and broken and burnt, the scent of smoke heavy on his flesh. He swears in time with the crash of a wave. “I need to make a phone call. Forget this conversation happened.” 

He leaves Genji to do whatever a broken ninja does and climbs back up the cliff. His fingers bleed as they dig into the rough stone, but not so much that he loses his grip. He thinks he would be almost amused by such an ignoble end for the commander of Blackwatch and the hero of the Omnic Crisis. The great Gabriel Reyes, slipped and fell to his death climbing a cliff.

He makes it to the top without dying. He storms through the base, thunder in his footsteps and lightning flashing in his eyes. It is so much harder to know who your enemies are when all of them are too scared to fight you directly.

He takes a jeep and drives for miles, following the cliff, until he is out of sight of the base. He ends up in a small stand of trees, the air heady with wood smell. It will burn someday, and there it is again. The acrid taste of smoke. He calls the number and waits.

On the third ring, a woman picks up. “Who are you?” she asks. She does not sound afraid but Gabriel can’t help but feel like she should have.

“I need to talk to Jesse McCree,” he says.

“Don’t we all,” she sighs, sardonic and world weary. “Give me a moment.” She hangs up. Gabriel waits, staring at the phone in his hand. Long minutes pass, each second in time with the beating of his heart. Either his heart beats too fast or the world moves too slow. He can’t figure out which it is.

“Howdy.”

Gabriel spins around. Jesse McCree stands in the shadow of a tall tree, his serape around his shoulders and his hat low on his head. In his mouth is an unlit cigar. Gabriel can smell it from where he stands and a tension lifts from his shoulders. He can not find it in him to be startled, although he knows he should be.

“What can I do ya for?” the vampire asks with a laugh and a grin and his face is incredibly pleasing to look at, rugged planes and craggy skin like an ancient desert. The smile stretches across his face like a canyon, life giving water flowing deep through his bright brown eyes.

“I’m calling in my favor,” Gabriel says, his feet rooted in ground that has turned to quicksand in that half second of speech and he wants to run to stable land under McCree’s feet.

McCree nods, tips his hat. “Call away,” he says.

Gabriel breathes and his lungs are clear for the first time in months and he is almost drunk on oxygen, his head spinning and his fingers shimmering to keep from shivering. “There are traitors in Blackwatch,” he says. “I want them destroyed and I want Blackwatch stabilized.” 

McCree reaches into his pocket, pulls out a silver lighter with an eagle and a cactus engraved on it. He flicks open a flame, bright enough to blind, and suddenly smoke is pouring from his cigar and the earth is packed and solid under Gabriel’s knees. He doesn’t remember falling. All he knows is that standing is more trouble than it’s worth. 

“I believe I agreed to give you one favor,” McCree says. “Flush out the traitors or keep your organization afloat.” He counts the cost on his fingers. Gabriel can see the whorls of his fingerprints, swirling lines across the digits in the shape of a drought cracked floodplain. McCree’s hands are in his hair, on his skin. “Pick one.”

Gabriel’s mind is more clear than it has been in his entire life. First clouded by childhood, then puberty, then experiments, then war, then rage as Morrison stole his organization right out from under him. McCree has lifted away years, decades of grime from Gabriel’s thoughts. He sits, weighing the costs and the benefits of each choice by the only metric that matters. 

“Stay by my side,” he decides. “Do my dirty work, protect my organization, keep me safe. All those fall under one duty. Stay with me.” His mouth is desert dry, but an oasis gurgles in the back of his throat as McCree’s smile widens. 

“I’ll be back in two days,” he says. “Then I will stay with you until the end of your days.” 

Gabriel closes his eyes and when he opens them, McCree is gone.

When he returns to base, one of his privates comes up to him, a jeer on his face. “Hey, Commander,” he crows, “Athena saw you out kneeling in the mud. She’s got pictures. What the hell were you doing there?”

Ah, right. Gabriel can run from human ears all he wants, but the AI is much harder to evade. “Leave it alone, private,” he growls, “Can’t a man pray in peace?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on the one hand it seems I'll never manage a consistent update schedule but on the other hand I actually have a vague idea of what's happening next chapter. Trigger warnings this chapter for unreality, gore, and manipulation/brainwashing.

Gabriel doesn’t dream. It’s a byproduct of the SEP. Not something that can be really classified as good or bad. His brain processes all the information while he’s awake without need for rest. The problem with that, at least in his case, is that he hallucinates instead.

Mostly in the long nights before missions when he can’t sleep because his body is still convinced that it will stave off nightmares that way. Instead, it’s the only way they find him. Sometimes just strange and meaningless images, sometimes the bloodied and torn bodies of people he loves. By now, though he’s gotten pretty good at telling his dreams from reality.

The only problem is that he can’t concretely prove that Jesse McCree exists.

He stays in the shadows mostly. Doesn’t show his face around the base. Doesn’t show up on videos or pictures. Even his voice can’t be recorded. Besides, it’s such an absurd concept anyway. A vampire cowboy assassin. He nearly laughs every time he thinks about it.

The only other person who knew Jesse McCree is Agent Garner. But Agent Garner’s gone and Agent Garner’s been on the list of those who nobly sacrificed their life for their country since long before he ever laid eyes on a worn down old diner along Route 66. Blackwatch isn’t a real organization, after all. It can’t be staffed by real people.

But Jesse McCree is still there regardless. A steady hand on his shoulder after a hard day, advice murmured in his ear when he thinks he’s alone, a flash of a bright red cloak distracting him right before he runs into a deadly trap. And always, always in the thick smell of smoke. Gunpowder, tobacco, electrical fires, forest fires. Incense. When McCree isn’t on base, Gabriel leaves a cigar out on the window for him. Just as a courtesy. Nothing more.

Still, there’s one way he can be sure he hasn’t just dreamed the whole thing up.

Oscar Jimenez. Blackwatch agent for three years. Found dead on the corner of a grocery store rooftop in Barcelona, his ribs cracked open and face cut up beyond all recognition. Local police were called in when the grocery store owners went to open up shop and blood started dripping on their heads. 

Kasyap Srinivasan. Blackwatch agent for eight months. Throat slit and dumped in the Godavari River. Found when he drifted ashore near a small farm, his face rotted off. He’d been dead for nearly two weeks.

Adelaide Bitters. Blackwatch agent for one year, four months. Shot six times in the chest in her apartment in Milwaukee. Her face had been skinned. Found by the police after neighbors called them. No sign of the attacker.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Gabriel doesn’t flinch. “How do you know they were traitors?”

McCree stands in the corner of Gabriel’s office. It’s the dead of night and he’s visible only by the embers of his cigar. Gabriel examines the possibility that some of the light might glint across McCree’s bright, mirthful eyes, lending the suggestion of a grin to the gloom. It seems unlikely. 

“I keep my ear to the ground,” McCree says like that explains everything. “Besides, I’ve seen these same patterns often enough. After a while, humans get predictable.”

“I surprised you once,” Gabriel points out. He’s still at his desk, the green tea Genji insisted on making for him cooling by his side. He watches the steam curl up from the surface of the liquid. He doesn’t watch the vampire.

“Humans. As a collective.” McCree is behind him now, one hand on the back of his neck. Gabriel knows how strong McCree is, knows he could snap Gabriel’s neck in half at any moment. He knows how much McCree want to. McCree puts his hand down.

“Don’t be so public about it. I think our point has been made.” The prickle of fear and worry that normally runs down Gabriel’s spine is now covering his whole back, screaming bloody murder that he would allow a vampire behind him unobserved. 

“Sure thing, jefe,” McCree says. Just like that, he’s gone.

Gabriel sips at the tea. It tastes bitter, like the dirt called coffee in that fateful diner off of Route 66. He wraps his hand around the cup. He can fit his whole hand around it easily enough. The china has beautiful patterns, green dragons and sparrowhawks and a gold rim and there is that subtle taste of honey and smooth texture of tea. The crushing heat of the desert is replaced by the mild chill of an airconditioned office. Gabriel finishes the tea and leaves.

A short drive takes him to the nearest town. A longer walk takes him to the town’s main cemetery. He jumps the fence with ease, moving soundlessly among the headstones. For once, he welcomes the oppressive silence, his head no longer filled with the sound of crackling wood and howling wind.

Soon, he makes it to the center, where an old mausoleum stands proud, the figure of a protecting angel laid over its head. He isn’t the only one there, his guest cutting an impressive figure, broad shoulders and long coat piercing through the gloom of night.

“This is a bit dramatic, even for you,” Jack Morrison says. “I have an office, you know. So do you.”

Gabriel scoffs. “This is the safest place I could think of. You know our offices are being watched.”

Jack opens his mouth like he’s about to call Gabriel paranoid but the words evaporate on his tongue. “What do you need?” he asks.

That’s the same question he always asks. What do you need. Jack never asks Gabriel what he wants. Gabriel wants a lot of things. He wants to be Strike Commander. He wants to have men he can trust. He wants to save the world. He wants the sacrifices of his men to be acknowledged. He wants to kiss Jack and kill him and maybe after all that just sit down and talk like they used to before either of them had dreamed of what their reality would become. Before either of them had taken on power and leadership and everything they had longed for in childish ambition. Now, the Sword of Damocles hangs low enough over both of their heads to leave them bleeding and there is only one thing Gabriel needs.

“I need you to trust me.”

“Gabe, I trust you with my life,” Jack says, hurt and confused. Welcome to the club, Gabriel thinks.

“I need you to trust me over the UN,” Gabriel says. “I need you to back me up if they question me. I need free reign to destroy Blackwatch and remake it from the ground up.” He tells Jack everything. The traitors in his ranks, the missions he only hears about after the fact, Amelie Lacroix’s kidnapping and possible brainwashing. The things he’s done to innocent people and convinced himself were necessary. He tells Jack his fears that someone is trying to drive them apart, push a wedge between them to fracture Overwatch from the inside. 

When he finishes, Jack is silent. His face is impassive, the same blank facade he presents to the UN. He looks marble given breath. Breath, not life. Whatever Gabriel and Jack still share could be called a lot of things, but not a life. Jack’s fist slams into the side of the mausoleum with a crack like a gunshot. Blood runs down his broken knuckles and faint hairline cracks decorate the stone wall. Jack’s face doesn't change. 

“I can't give up Blackwatch just yet.” The words are splinters pulled from Jack’s wounds and pressing into what little of Gabriel’s flesh remained untouched. “We can't afford to show our hand so soon. I’ll freeze recruiting for you, but that will leave you shorthanded before long.”

“Don't worry. It’s handled,” Gabriel says instantly. From the flicker of emotion on Jack’s face he knows he said it too fast, too sure. 

“Is that so?”

Gabriel braces himself. He looks around for the ember glow but all he sees are tombs and crosses. “You won't believe me.”

Jack is unimpressed. “Try me.”

Gabriel does. He tells Jack everything, telling the story in reverse to ease him into the truth. It isn't like him to beat around the bush but the smoke is heavy in his lungs and he can barely draw breath to speak. But at the end of the day, he’s a super soldier. He speaks and damns the smoke in his lungs. He tells Jack about the murdered traitors, about Garner slipping away from him month by month, the smoke filling his brain, and finally the encounter with the vampire on Route 66. He smiles grimly. “Told you you wouldn't believe me.”

Jack blinks, sighs, expelling air without any hint of the smoke that surrounds them both. It feels dishonest. “I’m… prepared to believe that you believe this. And that you have a secret rogue agent. Frankly, I’m just surprised you didn't get one sooner,” he adds with a wry laugh. “You need to bring him in.”

Gabriel balks instantly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my agent. The only one I can trust except for Shimada. I need people I know are loyal.” How fucking typical for Jack. The bastard already stole the command that should have been his. Of course he’ll snap anything else of Gabriel’s away. “You can't fucking have him.”

Jack looks shocked, unnerved. Good. “You just told me he stole your agents away from you. That doesn't sound trustworthy to me.”

“No, you don't understand. He’s only killing the traitors.” The smoke tastes sweet like a fireplace on a cold winter’s night. It tastes like a home Gabriel thought he’d forgotten. 

Jack’s hand is drifting towards his hip. Reaching for a gun. Gabriel’s faster. His gun is already pointed between Jack’s eyes and now Jack puts his hands down like he’s supposed to. “What about Agent Garner?” Jack’s is tight and wary but deliberately gentle. It makes Gabriel’s finger twitch to the trigger. He’s not some fucking horse to be gentled and bridled, no matter what Jack seems to think. 

“What about him?”

Jack holds his hands carefully out to the sides. “Was he a traitor?”

Gabriel scoffs. “Of course not. He was-” His voice catches in his throat. Agent Garner, kneeling at McCree’s side unable to disobey, constantly talking about him, fingers always fidgeting towards a cigarette. The gun slips from Gabriel’s fingers and he steps backwards, head pounding. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he demands, half hoping McCree will appear and give him an answer. 

Jack moves forward and takes the gun. “You should take some leave,” he says. “Get your head back on your shoulders.”

It’s obvious now how Gabriel was manipulated, controlled, made to crave the vampire’s presence. It’s even more obvious that the clarity won't last. “I can't,” he says. “I need to be accountable for something. Keep him pretending I’m in charge.”

Jack places a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful. Please.”

Gabriel nods. “I’ll try.”

He leaves the same way he came, jumping the chain link fence. The animal part of his brain wants to flee back to the safety of the crosses, but he forces himself to walk back to his car. He is furious now and the bone deep anger blazes hot enough to drown out the smoke. He won't allow himself to be used again. He will wring all the use he can out of that beast and then destroy it. He will annihilate Jesse McCree. 

He returns to base just in time to see two massive blue dragons tear through the barracks, hellbent on destruction. He pulls out his phone to call for help but two notifications catch his eye. First, a news story revealing that Genji Shimada survived an assassination attempt and found a new home in Overwatch. The second is a text message. 

Heart in his throat, Gabriel opens it. 

“Loyalty is a two way street, jefe. -JM”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review. They fuel me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I've been partly busy and partly just depressed. 
> 
> This chapter has trigger warnings for suicidal ideation/discussion of suicide, references to genocide, references to torture, murder, blood, brainwashing, and unreality. Please let me know if I missed anything.

For a moment, the air is still, hanging above the earth. Then it splinters and cracks and pulverized and Gabriel can move again. Words pour out of him on instinct. Lock down the base, bring in medics, bring in Mercy, yes, Angela Ziegler, no, another doctor won’t do, no, I don't care, bring her here now. The rubble slips and slides under his feet as he starts digging for survivors. 

There’s only one other person standing, an archer with an empty quiver, staring at the devastation in quiet confusion. Maybe shock, maybe horror, but mostly emotions he can't allow himself to feel. Gabriel lifts a young recruit free of the concrete and realizes he’s projecting. 

By the time the medics arrive and dig out Genji, the archer has fallen to his knees, bow just out of reach. Gabriel walks over to him, stares him down, points a gun at his head. The archer holds his hands out to be bound. Gabriel’s finger twitches against the trigger, almost against his will. The archer’s hands fall to rest on his knees. Gabriel gives him a pair of handcuffs and a knife too short to penetrate his own body armor. “Make your choice.” He walks away. 

The damage is staggering. Fifty eight dead, mostly from Overwatch proper. Three wounded, but alive. Jack is already spinning the story. This is what happens when classified information is leaked. This is what happens when Overwatch isn't allowed its secrets. Blackwatch will almost certainly remain in the shadows. Even now, McCree is protecting him. Fifty eight dead. We all have our sacrifices to make. Fifty eight dead. He won't see them in his dreams. 

Genji Shimada isn't dead yet. He’s barely clinging to life, surrounded by half the medical staff to keep him nearly stable until Mercy arrives. There are whispers of brain damage, organ damage, tissue damage. More amputations are almost certain. Mechanical organs in place of donated organs. If he survives, he’ll be just as much a philosophical marvel as a medical marvel, a case study in the boundaries of humanity. 

The sun is setting when Gabriel finally returns to the barracks to discard the archer’s body. Slants of red sunset light drench the earth, the shadows of branches in the wind casting the impression of a red and gold serape. The archer is still breathing, on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back. He looks half asleep, but jolts awake when Gabriel approaches. The silvery steel of the knife takes the color of the sky and the shadow of the archer’s body creates the impression of a black knife dripping blood. 

Gabriel crooks a finger and the archer stumbles to his feet and approaches. 

“This is not the choice I expected you to make,” Gabriel says.

“The choice is not mine to make,” the archer replies. 

Gabriel leads him to a small dark room with one chair, one light, and no doorknob. They could have this conversation in his office, but Gabriel is not in the mood to make this archer feel comfortable. 

“Name?” he asks. 

The archer doesn't hesitate. “Hanzo Shimada.”

The same man who tried to kill Genji the first time, tracking him across the world, slaughtering dozens of others to finish the job. He must have known he would never escape, and yet, here he is, a model prisoner so far. 

“Why’d you do it?” Gabriel asks. 

Hanzo Shimada can't be older than thirty, but there is gray hair at his temples already. He looks dull and washed out, even more than would be expected from the dim glow of a single ancient light bulb.

“It was my duty.” He sounds like Gabriel beat him senseless until he started talking, though he looks like he’s fairly intact. Gabriel is tempted, but Hanzo's already cooperating. 

“And surrendering right after?” 

“My duty was done.”

Of course. He’s forced to murder his brother, to do what he least wants to do in the world, so he does it and then takes the first out he finds, free to do whatever he likes. Relatively free, anyway. 

Gabriel keeps his face blank. He leaves. He orders a guard to take Hanzo down to a cell. He returns to his office. He shuts the door behind him. He sinks into his chair. 

“I thought you were gonna blow the archer’s brains out.”

Gabriel doesn't turn around. “You’ve made your point. What do you want?”

A strong broad hand takes him by the shoulder, rubbing at the knots of tension, not enough to soothe them, just to bring his attention to them. It could be a mockery of affection or just an imitation by a creature incapable of feeling it. 

“What do I want?” McCree asks. “Honey, it don't matter none what I want. I’m just stayin’ close like you wanted.”

There’s a waver in his voice like wind blowing over vast and silent plains. Gabriel tastes ashes and solitude and he feels unbearably lonely. Ash and dust and the burning ember of the cigar in McCree’s mouth and a question claws itself up out of the bedrock into Gabriel’s mouth. 

“Where are the rest?”

The hand on his shoulder tightens, creaks against the bone, and relaxes a moment later. Gabriel surprised him. 

“The rest?”

“You can't be the only vampire out there. We know about hard light and music that changes your emotions and dragon spirits so why do we still think vampires are myths?”

If the silence in the barracks pressed down on him, this silence is actively trying to crush him. He feels himself inhale sparks, burning the insides of his throat and lungs. Then it passes. 

“There ain't many of us left. Those of us who survived the Great Purge keep their heads down.”

A picture appears in Gabriel’s mind of his fifth grade English teacher, her mouth moving silently as she expounds on something or other. McCree keeps speaking and no other sound could possibly matter. 

“I’ve been lookin’ for the survivors for some time, but it seems the tracks have all vanished. I want to find more like me.”

Gabriel has long since lost count of the number of times during the crisis that he crawled out of a foxhole to nothing but silence. The first few times, he’d scream for help, for anyone who could possibly find him. After a while, he just carried on, searching for survivors as the ash settled around him.

McCree’s hand droops against his shoulder like it’s a terrible effort to try and hold it up. Gabriel understands that. By God, he understands that. 

“How do you find them?” he asks.

Gabriel can’t see McCree’s face, but he knows the vampire is grinning. He’s grinning too. It just feels right. 

“I found one,” McCree says. “But he’s scared out of his mind. I need to tempt him out to talk to him. Can you help me?” 

“Of course.” Gabriel doesn’t even have to think about it. Anything to put noise into that terrible silence. Anything to fill up that yawning plain.

“We’ll leave tomorrow night then,” McCree says. “Why don’t you take care of my little gift for you first?” There’s a gust of wind and a swirl of red and Gabriel stands and closes the window.

He goes to the hospital to visit Genji, but he’s stopped at the mouth of the hallway. Genji has a whole hall to himself and the teams of doctors, surgeons, therapists, engineers, and everyone else that he needs to keep him alive. Gabriel says a quick prayer, feeling the beads of the rosary on his wrist. The beads aren’t there. Neither is the crucifix. He can’t remember when he took them off.

When he enters the cell blocks, Hanzo Shimada is standing, facing the door of his tiny room like a soldier at attention. He doesn’t move at all. He’s facing Gabriel, but not looking at him or focused on him. “Is he alive?”

“No.” Genji currently holds a world record for most times died on the operating table. At that precise moment, Gabriel probably isn’t lying. 

Hanzo nods. “Will I be joining him?”

“That depends on you.” 

Hanzo scoffs. “If you were going to let me choose, you should have told me that before you wasted my time. You think a kinslayer has the right to choose his fate? My life was forfeit the moment I killed Genji.”

“So it is,” Gabriel agrees. “You work for me now.” 

“Since when does Overwatch hire murderers?”

“I’m not Overwatch.” He unlocks the cell door. “If you’re still here in three hours, you’ll stay here. If you leave, up the stairs, to the left, second door to the right. Ask for Spears. Xe’ll get you your gear and basic protocols. If you go anywhere else, you will be taken back here and I will deal with you later.”

He leaves. He tells Spears what’s going on, puts xir in charge for the moment. It’s not even strange for him. He goes out for solo missions all the time, many more in recent months. When he’s a mile outside of the base, heading south, he sees a familiar glint of red and pulls over.

McCree climbs into the front seat. It’s been months since Gabriel turned to look at him. The vampire, unsurprisingly, looks exactly the same as Gabriel remembers. He puts on his seatbelt. Gabriel stares. McCree takes his GPS and plugs in an address about twenty miles away.

“That’s about where he should be. Center of his territory anyway.”

“He?” Gabriel asks.

“I’ve canvassed the area already, in my spare time. He hasn’t left many survivors.” McCree lights his cigar and fills the SUV with smoke. He only opens the window as an afterthought. “He’s young, I’d wager. Certainly untrained. He needs a helping hand before he brings hunters down on all our heads.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Monster hunters? Guess it makes sense that they’d be real too.”

McCree pushes his hat back. “Sure are. Pains in the ass, usually. Fuckers don’t even taste right.” 

Gabriel chuckles at that, imagines the bumbling idiots Overwatch takes for recruits running around with crosses and wooden sticks, chasing after shadows. Useless and contemptible. There’s a flicker of unease in the back of his neck like something isn’t adding up, but he ignores it. He can worry about it later.

They reach the town just as the sun breaks over the horizon. Once again, the sky bleeds. 

“I’ve narrowed it down to that building.” McCree points out an apartment complex dead ahead. He reaches out and nicks Gabriel’s throat with a long fingernail. “Go on in, act natural. He’s starving, desperate. He’ll show up. When he does, call me. I’ll hear you.”

Gabriel nods. He has his gun at his hip and a dagger in his boot. He can fight off this vampire if he needs to. He goes into the building, makes up a story about cutting himself shaving and his brother bumping into him. He’s just passing through, could use some bandages. The young man at the front desk’s eyes widen.

“Here, come with me. I’ll get you a first aid kit.” 

Gabriel follows him into a secluded corner of the building. He’s seen the hunger in the man’s eyes, but he has to be sure. He doesn’t want to act rashly when the kid is desperate and killing just about everything he can get his hands on.

Wait a minute. Starving, but slaughtering everything in his path? No, no that makes sense. He’s killing just for sport. Not even feeding himself. Makes sense that McCree would be worried about hunters. Helpless, useless hunters. McCree is worried enough about those to send Gabriel after a weak and starving vampire killing everything in his path. 

There has to be some logical explanation. Some reason why McCree would-

His thoughts screech to a halt as one bursts through the crowd and shouts out: McCree cut your throat, Gabe. And you let him.

He sits down on the small clinic bed as the young man patches his wound. The young man’s hands are shaking and trembling. “You know what I am,” he accuses, his eyes turning red as he stares at Gabriel’s neck.

“I do,” Gabriel replies. 

The young man nods. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

“He’s here to help you.” That much at least, Gabriel is sure of. He doesn’t doubt that McCree would use him to make a more powerful ally than a mere human.

The young man laughs hysterically. “Deadeye? Here to help a vampire?” He shakes his head, keeps tending Gabriel’s wound. “He wants me to attack you, I think. Wants an excuse to kill me slowly. I’m not going to give him one.” 

He stands back, staring Gabriel down. “Call him. I’m tired of running.”

Gabriel hesitates. “You know how he’s controlling me?” he asks.

The vampire nods. “Yeah.” 

“Can you fix it? If you fix it, I can help you.”

“You can’t.” The vampire doesn’t even sound upset. He considers for a moment. “But you might be able to kill that fucker someday. Come here.” 

It’s not like Gabriel has nothing to lose. He has plenty to lose. But he doesn’t have any good options. He steps closer. The vampire grabs him by the shirt and pulls him into a searing kiss. It takes a few moments for Gabriel to pull away, eyes wide but head clearer than it has been in some time. He doesn’t bother asking what the vampire did. He knows he won’t get an answer. 

The vampire looks disappointed. “I’m not strong enough to overcome something like Deadeye. Hopefully I gave you a bit of an edge. Godspeed.” There’s a painful gurgle in his throat when he says the holy name. He backs into a corner, hands trembling. 

Gabriel has seen this far too many times, felt it far too many times. Not courage, but sheer denial of the abyss to come. He calls for McCree.

He hears McCree before he sees him. The jingle of spurs and the firm, steady footfalls. Then the door opens and McCree walks in. He walks straight towards the vampire. Suddenly, the young vampire’s pseudo courage vanishes. His eyes are wide and wild and he backs away, panting in fear. 

McCree draws closer. The vampire screams in pain and holds out a cross in front of him. It’s burning him badly, the flesh of his hand smoking and shrivelling, but it stops McCree in his tracks, just for a moment. There’s a single instant where Gabriel almost thinks there might be a battle, but McCree brings up his left arm. The one hidden under the serape and thick leather glove. It’s a prosthetic. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” the vampire says blankly as McCree plucks the cross out of his hand and crumples the iron like tissue paper. 

McCree throws the ruined metal aside, pushes the vampire into the wall. The slanting rays of crimson light gather around McCree snake up his body while the vampire screams and writhes. The light coils in McCree’s left eye.

“It’s high noon,” he drawls, the sound filling every corner of the room. The light bursts forth from his body, enveloping the vampire. When Gabriel’s vision clears, there’s nothing left but McCree and a light coating of dust. 

McCree pokes at the broken cross with one foot. “Remember that you are dust,” he recites with a wry smile. “Only verse in that whole damn book that ever made sense to me.”

He beckons and Gabriel goes to his side, but his head is clearer now. Whatever that vampire did worked. In the silence of his mind, he finishes the verse.

And to dust you will return. Even if I have to burn down the whole damn world to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, if you want more, reviews fuel me. Please let me know if I managed to make McCree's ult intimidating.


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